


Mess Me Up

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Deepthroating, Facials, M/M, Makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Pinto Kink Meme. </p>
<p>Prompt: Let's say our dreams come true and Zach is cast opposite Chris in the role in "Fool for Love" recently vacated by Lauren Ambrose. Every night, Zach notices how Chris hangs out with him, watching him apply and remove his make-up. He doesn't think anything of it and besides he likes the company.</p>
<p>Then one night, Chris asks, "Do you ever wear mascara?"</p>
<p>"What? No, but I get that question all the time. I guess it's cuz I'm Italian - dark eyelashes."</p>
<p>"Oh. OK." Chris pauses. "Could you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mess Me Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidchild67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts).



Zach has a beautiful face. Strong features, full lips that settle into a pretty pout a little too naturally, and warm eyes the color of chocolate. And perfect skin, so perfect he almost could go without the thick layer of makeup that he puts on his face each night before the show and carefully wipes off afterward.

He is even more beautiful here in his dressing room, in the soft, orangy glow of the lights that frame the mirror. They are halfway through the run of the play, and Chris has sat here next to him watching him take off his makeup a handful of times already, but he never can quite get over how good Zach looks. It’s different than during Star Trek, when Zach had to endure being prodded and poked by other people for hours, not to mention the indignity of shaved eyebrows and a horrible haircut. Here and now, he seems almost elegant, his hands sweeping a makeup wipe in gentle arcs over his cheekbones, his forehead, removing layers like he removes the character.

Sometimes Chris will go long minutes without even saying a word, just staring and silently appreciating, until Zach inevitably breaks the silence with some sarcastic quip.

Tonight, it’s Chris who breaks the silence. 

“Do you ever wear mascara?”

The words bypass his brain entirely on their way to rolling off his tongue, and once he realizes what he has said, he can feel his face growing hot. Zach meets his eyes in the mirror and raises an eyebrow at him.

“No,” he answers simply, but there is a small question in his voice, like he wants to know where this is going. “I just have naturally dark eyelashes. It’s the Italian blood, I suppose.”

“Oh,” Chris says. “Okay.”

There is a beat where Zach doesn’t look away, doesn’t continue with his makeup removal routine, just continues staring at Chris in the mirror as if waiting for him to go on.

It’s a very powerful stare. Chris can feel more words being tugged up his throat, right to the edge of his tongue, and then. “Would you?”

Another beat. Chris can feel his face getting even redder, if that’s possible at this point. Zach is watching him carefully, considering.

“Do you want me to?” he asks at last.

This is the point where Chris should make a joke, laugh it off, diffuse some of the tension that’s making his heart speed up and his palms sweat. He knows if he pretends it isn’t a big deal, Zach will play along, despite the way he is looking at him right now, dark-eyed and intense.

But he doesn’t laugh. Probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. Instead, he nods.

“Yeah,” he rasps. 

“For the play?” There is an implied second option there, Chris is pretty sure. And he thinks it’s the second option he really wants, but he nods again.

“Yeah. Tomorrow?”

Zach stares at him a little more. He is making good use of the melodramatic pauses, that’s for sure. Chris isn’t even ashamed to admit that they are getting to him. He wants to know what’s going on behind those dark, shuttered eyes of Zach’s.

But he doesn’t get to know yet, because Zach’s expression morphs quickly into something more casual and he shrugs one shoulder. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Chris repeats, then licks his lips reflexively, nervously. “Okay.”

\----------

It is not uncommon for them to see each other briefly before they first step out on stage, but the next night Chris is determined to avoid Zach like the plague. He is fairly certain that, if Zach does indeed follow through with the little bargain they made, seeing him before the play starts will completely throw him off his game.

When the lights come up and Chris gets his first glimpse, he is glad he waited. 

Eyelashes shouldn’t be obscene, but somehow Zach’s are. The mascara makes them look even longer and thicker than they already are, and Chris wants to reach out and run his finger across them, or feel them against his cheek, or kiss the corner of his eye and feel them flutter against his lips. 

It’s a wonder all his lines don’t fly out of his head right then and there. 

Somehow he makes it to the end of the play, to the final curtain call, without flubbing too badly, but he is half hard in his jeans when he follows Zach off stage. He doesn’t even bother heading toward his own dressing room, just follows right on Zach’s heels to his.

Once the door is shut behind them, Zach turns to him with a grin.

“That might have been the best show we’ve done yet. You were so… _intense_ , Chris. Well done.”

Chris feels a little flutter of pride in his gut, the same little flutter he feels any time he earns a compliment from Zach. Underneath that, there is a low thrum of want. His head is buzzing with it. His hands itch.

“Yeah, that one felt good,” he agrees, but the words come out a little hollow. That isn’t what he is thinking about at the moment.

Zach notices. The energy in the room shifts noticeably.

“What do you think?” he says, gesturing to his face, to his eyes. 

Chris’s fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans to keep himself from reaching out. “It’s good. It...uhh. Makes you look more feminine, I think, which is...it’s good. You know. For the play.”

Zach hums in satisfaction, searches Chris’s face, then turns around and reaches up to start unpinning his wig. 

“Unzip me, will you?”

Chris steps forward on autopilot and watches his own fingers as they split the bright red dress down the middle, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin. Zach lets it fall off his shoulders and steps out of it before walking across to the room to put his wig away. “Hang it up,” he says over his shoulder, oblivious to the fact that Chris is eyeing his bare back and long legs like a hungry animal.

Once Chris has gained enough presence of mind to pick up the dress, put it on the hanger, and turn back, Zach has completed his transformation from woman back to man, his dress and ridiculous padded bra traded for a pair of shorts. His hair is mussed, but he is leaning toward the mirror, smoothing it back into place. His chest is still bare.

Just as he opens the drawer of the vanity and starts searching for his cleansing wipes, Chris decides he can’t take it anymore. He steps forward and grabs Zach’s wrist.

“Wait.”

Zach straightens and half-turns. Chris doesn’t think he is imagining the slight, knowing twitch of his lips. “Yes, Christopher?”

He should have expected Zach to fuck with him. He should have known the moment Zach signed on to do this play with him that they would end up like this. Maybe he should even have seen this moment coming years ago. Right now though, it doesn’t matter how they got here; all that matters is that they _are_ here, and Chris wants him more than he has ever wanted anything.

He jerks Zach’s wrist a little, tugging him around and tugging him closer, and then puts a hand to his face and deliberately runs his thumb across his painted lips.

“Is it waterproof?” Chris asks, his eyes focusing again on Zach’s eyelashes.

“No.”

“ _Good_.”

A moment later, Zach is on his knees, and Chris can’t remember if he pushed him down or if he went down willingly. But it doesn’t matter, because Zach is nosing in against the hard-on pushing at the zipper of Chris’s jeans and then mouthing over him, dragging a groan from his lips.

Chris’s tugs his fly open in record time, jerks the zipper down, and then Zach takes over, dragging his jeans and briefs down over his hips, down to his knees, and then digging his fingers into the flesh of Chris’s ass, pulling him forward.

Zach leans in and bites at Chris’s hipbone, pushes his face into the crease of his thigh and inhales deeply. 

“You want to fuck my mouth?” he asks, tilting his head up enough to meet Chris’s gaze. His eyes look completely black, and this time Chris gives in to his impulse to reach down and brush a thumb over those thick, dark lashes, relishing the way they flutter against his touch.

“Fuck yes.”

“Then do it.”

Chris doesn’t need to be asked twice. He threads his fingers into Zach’s hair and tugs his head back a little, the other hand wrapping around his cock and jacking it once, slowly, before he guides it to Zach’s lips.

Zach doesn’t open his mouth at first, letting Chris smear precome over his bottom lip. That pout of his is even more infuriating now, and Chris takes his time tracing his mouth, enjoying how those lips look pressed up against the head of his dick.

“Open,” he says at last, and Zach does, instantly, his mouth going slack, his eyes still trained on Chris’s face. His compliance makes Chris bite his lip and tighten his grip on himself to stave off the urge to shoot right then and there. 

He feeds himself to Zach slowly, inch by inch, until he feels the flutter of Zach’s throat. But Zach makes an encouraging sound, so Chris keeps going, tightens his fingers in his hair and drops his other hand to his side and pushes in until there is not a single millimeter left to give him.

Chris has to pause then, his breathing ragged, and just look at Zach’s face, his red lips stretched around Chris’s cock, his dark eyes already wet and starting to leak at the corners with the effort of not gagging. If Chris thought he was beautiful before, he is even more beautiful like this.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Chris murmurs as he pulls out a little, letting Zach catch his breath, then sinks back in again. 

Zach hums around him, his hands kneading Chris’s backside encouragingly.

Chris pulls out and thrusts in again, then again, a stream of curses trickling out of his mouth as Zach’s throat constricts around him as he swallows him down.

“Jesus, look at you, just taking it.” Chris reaches out and thumbs at the corner of Zach’s eye, brushing through the moisture there and painting a black streak down his cheek. 

A few more moments and Chris doesn’t have to paint the black streaks himself anymore. He is taking his time, giving Zach time to breathe and swallow and control his gag reflex before each thrust, but it isn’t long before tears are sluicing down his cheeks, mingling with saliva on his chin. Dark rings start to form under his eyes where the mascara is pooling, and lines of black drip down his face until he looks like watercolor painting in grayscale. 

“Fuck,” Chris gasps as he drags his fingers through the mess on Zach’s cheeks. Zach’s eyelashes are glistening and clumped together now, and his hands have moved to the back of Chris’s thighs, where his fingers are gripping so tight that Chris can already imagine the ten circular bruises he’ll probably have there tomorrow. 

As he gets closer, Chris starts thrusting more shallowly, and Zach starts up a truly obscene chorus of moans that seem to vibrate all the way through Chris’s body from head to toe. He’s too close, and as much as he is enjoying Zach’s pink-smeared mouth, this isn’t how he wants to finish. Zach is a mess, but Chris wants to make him more of a mess.

“I want to come on your face,” he says, the question mark implied in the tone of his voice. Zach lets out an enthusiastic groan.

Chris pulls out completely. The fingers of one hand are still curled into Zach’s hair, and he tugs his head back a little more until it is completely upturned, like an offering. Then, he starts jacking himself, his eyes focused on Zach’s face. At first, Zach stares up at him, his gaze dark with desire, but as Chris’s breathing becomes more ragged, Zach closes his eyes, his eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks, dark against his pale skin. The heat in Chris’s gut grows until it’s almost unbearable, and it only gets worse when he glances down to see Zach has dropped one hand to his lap to knead at his own obvious erection through his shorts.

“Tell me you want it,” Chris gasps. He’s already so close, right on the edge, which is almost depressing. He wants this to last forever.

“Come on, Chris. Do it. Do it. I want it,” Zach groans. “ _Please._ ”

And how can Chris ignore a polite request like that? His orgasm slams into him, and with a hoarse shout, he paints Zach’s face, thick stripes of come hitting Zach’s hair, his cheek, his lips. Chris moves his hand to side of Zach’s face and slides his fingers through the tears, mascara and jizz, even as the last spurts of his release land on Zach’s chin.

“God, Zach,” Chris moans. “Christ.”

His hand moves to the vanity behind Zach so he can lean heavily on it, doubling over and breathing through the aftershocks. His eyes drift closed briefly, then open just in time to see Zach lick a drop of come from the corner of his mouth.

“Jesus.”

Zach’s hands glide up the back of his legs, over his ass, to the small of his back. “There’s a towel in that drawer,” he says with a slight jerk of his head.

Chris digs in the drawer in question with trembling hands until his fingers close around the towel. He brings one hand to Zach’s chin, cupping it carefully as he swipes the cloth inelegantly over his face. The black streaks stay, but he gets most of the rest of the mess, at least enough so that Zach won’t feel so uncomfortable.

The moment he’s done, Chris tosses the towel aside and wraps a hand around Zach’s bicep to drag him to his feet and crush their mouths together.

The kiss goes on until it turns lazy and sloppy, and Chris breaks it out of sympathy, certain Zach’s mouth has to be tired. He can’t resist reaching up and touching the streaks on Zach’s face one more time.

“Sorry,” he says a bit sheepishly. “Sort of made a mess.”

“Don’t apologize,” Zach says, a feral grin forming on his face. “Tomorrow night, I’m introducing you to lipstick.”


End file.
